Fragmented Chronologies
by Ratany
Summary: 3rd in my Silent Echoes series. To Bruce they were his family. To Batman they were his acolytes. But when the first one fell, Dick, Alfred, and Tim were forced to find their own paths. The stories of those Bruce once loved and how he lost them.
1. Notes: Updated November 18, 2010

Fragmented Chronologies

By Ratany

Disclaimer: All rights of established characters owned and retained by DC, WB, and whoever owns them. This is a work of fanfiction not meant to infringe upon these rights, just play in the sandbox.

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10/1/10

This is set in my _Silent Echoes_ universe, which was based on the television version of _Batman Beyond_. Likely, this story can be read without first reading the others as it is set before them, though some chapters will be lacking context supplied in other stories. _Silent Echoes_ was written before the release of _Return of the Joker_, so it's important to note that it's not part of my universe. Also, it's before the _Teen Titans_ or _Justice League _TV series. I'm not such which, if any, of those cartoons are supposed to be connected, but they aren't at all here.

_Silent Echoes_ was the first story I wrote solo, which I started posting on ffdotnet back on October 1, 2000. And what a different website it was back then. I finally came back to this account recently, reread the story, and decided I wanted to do something for the 10th anniversary.

All these plotlines where outlined 10 years ago in my notes, but not all of the details were flushed out. As I write this in 2010, some of those details are influenced by newer _Batman _storylines, but my frameworks is the same. These are the events I envisioned which helped create the _Batman Beyond_ universe when I was writing back in 2000.

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11/15/10

Added the timeline elements to Dick and Alfred's stories - Day 1 (Tamaran) and Day 0 respectively. I always knew I needed a timeline but wasn't quite sure how I wanted to represent the time relativity or reference point. I also edited both parts a little bit to reduce redundant or unnecessary information about the past. I think the reader can still understand what occurred.

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11/18/2010

So far, Tim's part came out closest to what was in my head. Or maybe I'm just proud I didn't call him Jason (or Jasim as I've named him) once.

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	2. Dick I: The Tongue Of Languages

Dick I: The Tongue of Languages

Day 1 (Tamaran)

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Soft lips pressed against Dick's. His eyes widened in shock as the redhead shifted more of her weight across his body. He felt his elbows buckle, knowing his back would've hit the ground if not for her strong arm around his neck. If she moved further to her left, she could pin him down. Though she was lighter than him, he estimated she had a six inch height advantage she could effectively use against him. Which, he told himself, was entirely why his whole body was focused on hers, to ensure she didn't attempt to move to the left.

_Barbara._

The sensation of her tongue gently sliding across his teeth reminded Dick of his dilemma. Despite his wandering mind, his body had been stuck in an unusual fight or capitulate response. Unable to choose, he resorted to being polite. Holding her shoulders, he gently pushed her up into a sitting position. His upper body was forced to follow hers a moment before she released his lower lip from her teeth. Gasping as oxygen hit his lungs, he remembered what breathing felt like.

At least she seemed to have the same problem, though she was much more delighted by the fact. She smiled down at him, a pull at the corner of her mouth which slowly turned into a full grin. He returned her smile with a small one of his own, wishing for a better means of communication. He had been intending to try forms of nonverbal communication, but forgot what it was when she spoke first.

"Hi. You know, you're really cute?"

"You speak English?"

"Physical contact. I simply absorbed your language."

"You use your tongue to learn," Dick told himself he was twenty-seven, that he should resist, "tongues?" He resolved to resist next time.

"Not necessarily. But it was certainly more enjoyable this way."

"Pouvez-vous apprendre n'importe quelle langue?" Dick almost grimaced after his daft question like a rank amateur.

The woman licked her lips and leaned forward again, pausing when her breath mingled with his. "Numai limbi care sunt cunoscute pentru tine."

Dick recoiled at the sound of the language he hadn't heard in nearly two decades, his curiosity dimmed. Apparently she could absorb any language he knew or had half forgotten. The physical distance between them did allow him to focus again.

"Let's stick with English for now. My name's Richard, but everyone calls me Dick." Dick glanced down at the white linen tunic and pants he was wearing, distinctly aware he was Dick Grayson and not Nightwing. "And you are?"

"Koriand'r."

He repeated her name slowly, attempting to match her inflections. Dick assumed he had said her name correctly when she beamed at him. A moment later she collided their lips together again with such a force that he was knocked over and his feet flew into the air. He attempted to extract himself from her, but his attempts were forgotten when met her eyes. Her eyes were entirely emerald green, and despite the odd skin tone and height, Dick finally understood she was different. She was alien. And while he shouldn't have been able to tell where she was looking, he knew she was staring straight back into his eyes.

Koriand'r pulled back this time. "Why do you blush?"

"Well, where I come from, we generally only kiss people you know."

She wrinkled her nose. "That seems like an odd and restrictive custom. You now know my name. What other sort of things do you need to know about someone before you kiss them?"

"Generally, who they are. Where they came from. Who were those lizard men in gold and pink who were chasing them."

"Generally? You follow this generally?"

"Well," Dick thought he might be blushing harder, "yes."

"Okay, I'll tell you these things. I am Koriand'r of Tamaran. They are the Citadel, a blood hungry race without compassion or love. I was given to them as a child and eventually sold as a slave. They were transporting me, but were not careful enough. I escaped and stole a star-slider which crashed here. They pursued and would've recaptured me had you not interfered. They will persist, but I believe we have lost them for a time."

Dick watched her passion turn to furry then sadness. Having worked these kinds of cases before, Dick knew there was really no correct response. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be. The only thing you are responsible for is my rescue." Her kiss was much softer this time, and Dick realized it was meant to comfort him. He wondered how he must look to an alien being if she thought he needed comfort. He almost corrected her; he hadn't rescued her so much as assisted her. She had fought with a bloodlust that caused his pulse to quicken where the physical exertion hadn't. It was a dangerous sort of excitement he hadn't felt in a time. Fortunately, she didn't give him a chance to speak. "Is your space craft nearby?"

"My space craft?" Dick furrowed his eyebrows in genuine confusion. He could not recall any ship, though he supposed his clothes did remind him of old science fiction films' version of hibernation space travel uniforms.

"Yes, I know you are not from this planet and it is unusual for a foreigner to live here. If we head for your ship, perhaps we can avoid the Citadel."

Dick remembered standing with Bruce at the cave's command center looking at the mission plans on the screen, but he could not remember what they were. He did not remember leaving for the mission let alone what sort of transportation he had taken. That likely meant some sort of head injury which he sustained because, "There was an explosion." Dick spoke the words slowly, as if saying them would trigger the forgotten memories.

"There is nothing salvageable from your ship?"

Dick thought of the lack of technology or civilization where he woke up in an unknown forest, just himself in odd clothes among the trees. "No. You seem to know of this planet. Where are we?"

"This is the planet of my birth, Tamaran, eighth planet of Vega."

This wasn't just another planet, it was another solar system. Dick clenched and unclenched his hands trying to work through the problem. He had no idea how or why he was on Tamaran let alone how to return to Earth. Stranded, Dick felt the first signs of panic. Knowing he couldn't process his situation, he focused on hers instead. "Then we can return to your home and seek assistance."

Koriand'r bit her lower lip and sat back on the ground. Their legs were still touching, though she pulled her arms protectively across herself. "When I was given to the Citadel, it was part of a treaty between our races. One of the provisions was I can never return to Tamaran."

"So returning home could start a war?"

"Yes." Koriand'r nodd darting her eyes away from his. "The Citadel broke through all our planet's defenses. We are warriors, but we were overwhelmed. That's why the treaty was made, to protect the people."

"But there is something else." She was alien, but Dick could still tell when she was holding information back.

"Yes." Sighing, she brushed a stray strand of auburn hair from her eyes before finally meeting his. "I was heir to the throne, which was why I was chosen. I fear if I return, my people may become divided. If there was civil war we would never stand against the Citadel."

"Surely there is still someone who could help you, someone discrete."

"There is one." Surveying their surroundings, Koriand'r pointed slightly to the right of their previous heading. "I believe his home is north from here." She stood up and offered him a hand. Taking it, Dick found himself pulled to his feet with what appeared to be no effort. "It would be quicker if we flew."

"You can fly us both?"

As a response, she scooped him up under his knees with an arm around his back. Without a thought, he slid his arm around her neck for support as she floated a few feet into the air. Dick grinned; he was flying. The singular thought overrode any indignities, though he still wanted to make a Louis Lane joke. "So this someone can get us a ship?"

"If he is still alive, I believe he will help me if I ask for a ship for you."

"Only for me?" He found himself somehow disappointed that this woman he had only met a few hours before would be leaving him. And that left him feeling guilty again about Barb.

"Perhaps I will return home, as you said."

"But the war?"

"I have a duty to my people. That duty will always come first. I will see what has become of my home and do what is best for them."

Her situation was something cosmic, and so beyond Dick's usual pay grade. Koriand'r was war and politics, hedonism and bloodlust, lightening and thunder. She wasn't human and Dick could remember every paranoia Bruce had ever mentioned. But she was also someone in need of aid, which was something Dick understood. "Let me help you."

"You are not part of this, yet you offer assistance?"

"It's in my nature. And if your friend is going to lend me a ship I should return the favor." And figure out how to contact everyone back home. Bruce, Barb, Tim, and Alfred, they were family.

"Okay, I will tell you of my history but you are not obligated to assist me. I don't even know what I am going to do."

"Agreed." Dick watched the forest under them as she began to tell of her past. The thrill of flight and the warmth of her body pressed to his almost drowned out his homesickness.

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Notes: Translations by Google Translator. If there is a correction, please let me know.

"Pouvez-vous apprendre n'importe quelle langue?"  
"Numai limbi care sunt cunoscute pentru tine."

French: Can you learn any language?  
Romanian: Only languages that are known to you.

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	3. Alfred I: The Holes Left Behind

Alfred I: The Holes Left Behind

Day 0

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Brother Blood's base exploded.

Bruce was rigid in the chair, cowl pulled back, as he examined the same files he had been scrutinizing since the mission began. Alfred was standing to Bruce's right, precisely positioned so the dinner tray he held was at the edge of Bruce's peripheral vision. As it would be several hours before Bruce would even bother eating while working, he had made gazpacho. Alfred was staring at the satellite feed of Blood's stone fortress, using it to channel Dick's offbeat humor to add to his own formidable manipulative skills. He was halfway through Master Dick's well known thoughts on "cold soup" when the satellite captured the base's explosion.

Alfred's trained eye caught the chain of explosions before the image was completely shrouded by smoke. Dick's tracer, located in the center of what had been the base, went dark. With the amount of ammunition Blood was supposed to have at his base, Alfred calculated there wouldn't be much of anything left but rubble. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the information coming in from the screens. He could hear Bruce's attempts to contact Dick, but the ambient noise steadily became static in his ears and for Alfred the room grew quiet.

There was an ache in his chest. As a child, before he had found a name for his vengeance, Bruce once described to Alfred how the loss of his parents was like a hole in his chest. But the emptiness inside of Alfred didn't pull him in. Instead it pushed out, a steady ball of force against his sternum from inside. Not enough that he thought his chest would burst, but enough Alfred irrationally wanted to clutch at his chest, anything to even the pressure. But all Alfred had was his self-control, so he tightened his grip on the dinner tray instead.

He knew he would never see Master Dick again. The feeling had been with him since he had driven Dick to the airfield before the mission. The pull on his chest just confirmed it.

The ringing in his ears faded and Batman's harsh tones slowly brought Alfred back to himself. Confused that the words were coming from above him, Alfred glanced up, noticing for the first time he was being supported by Batman's legs. His own were folded under the tray which he still grasped desperately in his hands. The tray was orderly despite his apparent collapse, though he wasn't sure why that was significant. He stared at his distorted reflection in the silver as Batman's words began filter in.

"-no biological life signs then you have no business there. You will not investigate. You will not disturb the scene with so much as a flap of your cape. You will be here in five minutes to transport me to the scene. You will not offer me your empty condolences."

Years of knowing Batman allowed Alfred to identify the end of a conversation, though he doubted much of one had taken place. A gloved hand touched his shoulder to hold him steady as Batman moved in front of him. Alfred glanced up as the tray was tugged from his hands and placed to the side. A second later, the cowl was pulled back and Bruce was kneeling in front of him.

"Alfred. I. Dick, he-"

Bruce knew Dick was gone. Alfred could hear the admission in Bruce's disjointed words and read it in the lines etched in pain across his face. Alfred felt a surge of adrenaline - everything about his situation was wrong. Bruce's conclusion was entirely unacceptable. There was no proof that Dick had been anywhere near the base when it exploded; the tracer, despite Barbara's instance, hadn't been surgically implanted. There could be several reasons why it had been at the base when Dick hadn't been. If Dick was alive, he needed someone to search for him and his best hope was Batman. Alfred searched Bruce's face, looking for a clue as to why Bruce had given up, if the master detective was following a gut feeling like a foolish old butler. But what he read there was a slight flicker of guilt.

In that moment, Alfred knew Bruce could not be involved with the case, only Batman. For that, he had to suppress the damaged child threatening to reemerge. Alfred just hoped it was an emotional death from which Bruce could recover.

"Master Bruce. My actions have been highly inappropriate and not fitting one of my station. I must beg your forgiveness."

"Alfred." Bruce's voice was soft, hurt. It was the same voice which only appeared after several nights of chastising, when Bruce was finally willing to entertain the notion he might've made an error. But it couldn't be there.

"No, no, Master Bruce, I must insist. I also fear I must ask your assistance in standing. I'm afraid I'm not as young as I once was."

"Of course."

Alfred shook away the gentle hands as soon as he was on his feet. He dusted himself off and straightened his clothes with as much dignity as he could muster while leaning against the computer for support. "Now then, many of the supplies you will need are already in the satellite base in Australia. If you need more equipment or if the jet is grounded, I will fly over myself. I will make arrangements for Bruce Wayne to leave on holiday in the early morning and supply a suitable cover story." Alfred began accessing media feeds to ensure none of his usual vacation spots had any unusual activity that would require additional coverage of the area. It would not due to have extra reporters change stories and start searching for Bruce Wayne, however private and elusive a figure his wealth could afford to make him. "I will, of course, notify you when the details are set."

"Alfred."

Against his better judgment, Alfred turned his head towards the man he had raised from a small, broken child. Bruce's face was open, young in its pleading but old in its grief. It was almost progress. It was almost what Dick had to have known was there still under the cowl. But it couldn't be there at the cost.

"Alfred, Brother Blood has the technology to scan each recruit for any anomalies. While this would not have been a concern for Dick whom Blood had no previous contact, Blood has been in contact with Ra's al Ghul." Bruce paused, as if waiting for a response. Frozen, Alfred was unable to motion Bruce to stop or continue. After three controlled breaths Bruce began again.

"Ra's knows all our genetic codes. He always considered me as a heir; I never trusted him with my identity, but I never suspected he would part with that information. But maybe I overestimated how far his 'protection' extended. I've been attempting to identify the nature of Ra's business dealing with Blood and-"

Alfred mentally clutched the hole in his chest. Bruce needed to stop for both their sakes. Every ounce of pain was twisted into his most contemptuous tone. "Master Bruce. Despite the similar color scheme I assure you I do not take confession nor do I absolve sins."

"I never informed Dick of Ra's." Bruce's declaration came in one breath.

Alfred's pain twisted again into something dark, a hatred which he had previously reserved for those whom had hurt is family. He hated every person and every decision which brought them to that point. He hated Dick for trusting Bruce. He hated Bruce for betraying that trust. He hated himself for knowing better.

Because it hadn't been a matter of trust for Bruce. It had been a matter of knowing Dick would pursue the Ra's angle by himself. And it wasn't a matter of underestimating Dick's abilities, it was of knowing Ra's. But Bruce's patterns were well established, and it was precisely the type of action which would've driven Dick away again. Which was precisely why Bruce had not told him.

But Alfred had long ago been a master performer and even Batman at his quickest would've missed his emotional turmoil. His true hatred was directed at those who had taken Dick from him and he could not let his grief damage any chance of finding him. Alfred grasped his hands above both of Bruce's elbows and held him firmly. "We do not know what occurred. This is not helping."

"But his cover was good. This never should've happened."

"You are correct. But we do not even know if his cover was blown. We do not know if he is dead. We will find out, and then we will deal with the facts."

Bruce's muscles loosened under Alfred's fingers. "You're right, old friend. I promise I will bring home-"

"The truth. You will bring home the truth. It is the only thing you can promise to bring us." Alfred took a step backwards. "Now might I suggest you turn off the proximity alarms before your guest arrives."

Bruce's half smirk was almost comforting. "Can't make it too easy on him. But it will save time later." The cowl was pulled back into place and Batman joined him at the computer. Alfred resisted staring, telling himself Bruce wasn't going to die under that cowl that night and not quite believing it.

"Master Bruce, I will inform the others once-"

"No, they don't need to know just yet."

"You can't keep this from them."

"I don't plan to. It should come from me. And there is nothing they can do."

"Nonsense. They are family to Master Dick and will be watching your city while you are gone." A small part of Alfred didn't want to excuse Batman the responsibility of explaining Dick's death. It was Batman's obsession that had first drawn them all together. But Tim and Barbara deserved more than Batman could give them. And so that duty fell to Alfred.

"No, they don't-" Batman was mercifully interrupted by a short breeze and a streak of blue and red. The two stood there a moment, human and alien only an arm's length apart. Alfred could see the tension there, but he also saw a flash of what could've been. Had things been a little different they wouldn't have been only slightly more than strangers. The two could've done so much good together as allies. How strange the alien seemed the more human of the two; Alfred could see Superman's desire to reach out, to offer some comfort, but Batman's invulnerability didn't allow for it.

"I'll keep in touch." Batman nodded once, and the streak disappeared in blue and red and black.

Alfred felt the air settle around him again and with it came a nervous energy which Alfred didn't know where to focus. He found himself drawn back to the satellite feed. Another streak and the smoke was cleared from his view and he could see what little remained of the base. There was a hole in the Earth and a hole in his chest, but neither could signify how much had been lost that night.

With a deep breath, Alfred turned from the screen and collected the dinner tray, intending to finish his tasks out of the oppressive cave. His eyes caught his distorted reflection in the silver again. The tray shook once before slipping out of his fingers and hitting the floor with an almost satisfying crash. The bowl tipped sideways and rolled over once, Alfred watching dispassionately as the cold soup ran across the cave floor.

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	4. Tim I: The Replacement Of Names

Tim I: The Replacement Of Names

Week 2

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"Robin."

The tone, so ingrained in him to obey, forced Tim to pause before the anger allowed him to take another two steps away.

"Robin, you will not walk away from this conversation."

Tim turned back towards Batman, the man somehow draped in shadows amid the lights of the computer. His fingers reached for his own cape before remembering he hadn't even made it into the costume vault before Bruce's return stopped him. "I'm not going to point out to you what's wrong with that statement because you're feeling nostalgic for an argument you've had a million times with Dick."

"Robin."

"No, _Tim_." He took a step back towards Batman, arms splayed to emphasize the plain, white training uniform he wore. The white lenses narrowed, but Batman remained still. Even after all his years working with the Dark Knight, Tim wanted to fidget under the glare or at least pull his cape around his shoulders, but he wouldn't show any weakness and he was not wrong. He should still leave, avoid saying things in anger, yet he wasn't going to let that glare drive him away.

"Okay, fine. You want to continue this conversation? Which part? Is it the part where you came back after two weeks with nothing but a story? The part where you have no leads on Brother Blood and you forbid us to search for him? Or the part where you announced you've found a replacement for Dick's life as Nightwing?"

"Dick knew the importance of protecting our identities."

From Bruce, that was a calculated statement. Tim was unsure whether Dick had somehow earned the use of his first name or if Bruce had already stripped him of his Nightwing identity. Either way, he couldn't let Bruce manipulate him. "Right, Dick knew it was important for no one to connect his disappearance with Nightwing's for our sake. Then it should be someone who knew Dick well both in and out of costume.

"Let me be his proxy." Because no one could actually replace Dick, not even Tim. "Just a few nights a week until-" he was old enough to do it full time. But he had already started to make concessions and Bruce hadn't spoken yet, so Tim bit his inner cheek to silence himself.

"You're not ready."

"And you think Jean Paul is?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

"He will be."

"Oh that's cold, Bat logic. You let one cult kill him only to replace him with another cult's enforcer." Tim bit back a curse as he realized his outburst would only reinforce Bruce's assertion he was only fit to be a sidekick. Not that he hadn't seen Dick reduced to simply yelling at Bruce, but Batman would see it as impulsive and a sign he was still a teenager.

"That was The System. You've never had a problem with Jean Paul in the past. Your last training report spoke highly of his abilities."

"You weren't ever replacing one of us with him before." Bruce had to see it, how wrong it was. But Batman didn't care. "He doesn't even look like Dick. He could've passed for you maybe, but never Dick." With how obvious and simple his point was, it shouldn't feel as if he was grasping at straws.

"For all his exhibitionism, accounts of Nightwing are highly inaccurate. But you're right." Tim knew that didn't mean he had won. "Which is why I'm sending Nightwing on a mission in Blüdhaven. If his results are adequate, he'll be positioned there permanently."

As much as knowing he wouldn't have to see the imposter every day should've been a relief, it wasn't. "I suppose I should buy Jean Paul a box of black hair dye to mark the occasion."

"That is unnecessary. The augmentations to the Nightwing suit reduce the physical differences and allow for disparities in fighting style. The suit was impractical."

Sixteen days after the explosion Bruce had everything planned. Ten minutes after he returned he expected Tim to fall in line. "It wasn't the suit that got him killed."

"Excuse me?" Batman was simply there in his personal space before Tim had registered Bruce had moved. Perhaps he should've found it intimidating, but it wasn't. Everything seemed pathetic, all of it from the masks to the cave to the cars to the voice.

"You heard me. It wasn't the suit that killed him. It was you. It was your training." Tim wished he had been in the Robin suit, if only to say those things as a part of Dick's legacy. "It's your fault Dick was on a mission where his only escape was some moron's experimental Star Trek rip-off transporter which stupidly required manual operation. It's your fault he chose to stay behind to save a bunch of brain dead cultist - whom had all willingly ran away from reality, mind you - instead of himself. It's your fault he's dead."

Tim stood there, trying not to gasp for breath, staring at that ridiculous bat insignia across the man's chest. He couldn't look up because in truth he had always known Dick would die like that. Not in a fight against some stronger opponent or even one that just got lucky. Dick was always going to die saving a life because Dick thought no one life was worth more than anyone else's, even his own.

"You should've told him." He couldn't bring his voice above a whisper.

"Told him what?" Bruce spoke almost as quietly.

"That his own life was worth saving too." Tim had always know Dick would die, he just wasn't ready for it to happen so soon. Not that he ever could be ready.

Tim fled, he knew it couldn't be considered anything else. He took the steps to the manor three at a time by physical memory as his vision was clouded.

"I did." Bruce was so quiet Tim wouldn't have heard him if the cave hadn't been so empty. "Tim." There was a plea in Bruce's voice which Tim had never heard before.

There wasn't any reason for Tim to believe him. But staring down at Bruce, Tim felt the anger lessen, though it didn't fade away. His anger did feel less important than his grief as, wiping the tears from his eyes, he finally saw Bruce's. Tim leaned against the back of the clock as he slid down to sit on the top stair, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

Tim knew that later he would have to listen to Batman's entire plan just as he knew he'd still wear the Robin suit. He pushed aside the knowledge that they would argue about everything and nothing would be the same again. For then though, he could sit looking down at his mentor in his domain and simply feel.

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